


Finals Week

by Red



Series: "Lessons" Verse [2]
Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anal Play, Bottom Erik, Canon Disabled Character, Charles is a Professor, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fisting, Laughter During Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Charles, but not a terribly disciplined one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has fifty-six papers to grade. He also has one incredibly lovely boyfriend who keeps decent stock in lube. </p><p>Or, as Charles puts it: "how everyone got passing marks in intro genetics that one year: starring Erik's arse."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finals Week

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Экзаменационная неделя (Finals Week)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11744541) by [SchoenerunddickerKerl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchoenerunddickerKerl/pseuds/SchoenerunddickerKerl)



On the drive home, he'd had every intention of starting in on the glut of final papers clogging his work email. A quick dinner, his laptop, and fifty-six undergrad summaries of Wikipedia articles, that was the plan. 

But somehow it devolved to this. 

Who can blame him? When he got in, Erik was already there in his kitchen, with dinner all prepared and the sweetest undercurrent of desire, and really, it just seemed rude to _not_ if Erik was going to be so perfectly lovely. 

Erik's trim backside is glorious, all stretched out across Charles's lap, on him like he’s aiming to be spanked. The lube and the dildo that Erik has picked out--the latter of which is just tellingly ambitious--are propped against the pillows along with Charles, and already he's three fingers in. 

The papers can always be graded after, Charles tells himself. He twists his hand again, screwing hard into Erik's arse, and Erik lets out another muffled sound. His hands are clawed into the blankets and his face is shoved against a pillow, and Charles pets appreciatively over one flank with his free hand. 

Much as Charles should be working, there's no question what--well, _who_ \--needs to doing more. Erik is gorgeous and cock-hungry, and while maybe he always is, to Charles's great dismay he only rarely gives himself over to it quite like _this_. 

His hole is hot and tight, relaxing gradually to Charles’s touch. Erik is so very seldom in such a greedy mood, it’s only proper to indulge. Charles can always pull an all-nighter, after all, and it was apparent from the minute he first got a finger in that Erik had taken the time to get ready for him. Honestly, Charles thinks again. It’d just be rude not to. 

Whenever he pulls his fingers out, Erik thrusts back on them. 

Lovely, Charles thinks again. Just lovely. 

“Ah,” he sighs, watching Erik stretch out all over again. 

He can’t outright call Erik beautiful, because--more’s the pity--Erik will inevitably become prickly just to prove Charles wrong. But a little dirty talk, while sometimes a gamble… Charles has learned, when Erik’s in this sort of mood, it usually goes over just fine. 

“You want more. Fingers not enough for you, is that right?” he asks, grinding deep. His knuckles are tight up against Erik’s flesh, thumb and fourth finger shoved against his perineum. The motion shocks Erik into arching his back, so when he moans, it’s not into the shelter of a pillow. It’s loud and obscene, a noise forced by the motion of Charles’s hand, and now even Erik’s _shoulders_ are flushed. 

Charles hooks his fingers downward, watching how he’s tugging at Erik’s skin, how Erik’s balls draw up. He can’t see his cock at this angle, can’t feel it if Erik’s leaking on his thighs--but god, he can imagine. 

“Tell me,” he demands. “I know what you want, I can see it. All you’re thinking is how good it’ll be to get filled up, but I want to hear you ask for it.”

It’s true. Erik’s thoughts are disjointed, uncharacteristically haphazard. But they’re all ablaze with a singular desire to be stretched open, to be fucked, to be left sore and loose in the aftermath.

Erik’s breathing is harsh, and he starts to say something; gets only as far as Charles’s name before he cuts off with a curse. 

Charles smirks. One’s pinky is so small in comparison to the rest of one’s fingers, and Erik takes it so easily. But when all four fingers are sinking deep--it’s not just the stretch of them, it’s the threat of _more_ , of the width of his knuckles so close up against Erik’s hole. 

“Oh,” Erik groans. “Oh, fuck. Charles.” It sounds like a plea, and Erik clenches down hard, like he’s chasing a painful fuck. 

But Charles is rather too fond of his possessions to give in to any of that. Withdrawing, he pumps more lube out on his fingers, gets a little extra on his palm to slick down over Erik’s arse. It’s tempting to _keep_ sliding down, an easy glide down Erik’s balls and between his tense thighs to cup the underside of his heavy prick, and Charles isn’t a saint. He has to give in to something. 

“Shit,” Erik whines. He thrusts into the wet channel of Charles’s hand, frantic little motions like he’s trying to stop but can’t help himself. “Please,” he begs, his mind a conflicted frenzy of restraint and helplessness. His jerking thrusts slow, and Charles just starts rubbing him off in reward. “Please, don’t. Charles--”

It’s _almost_ convincing. Erik doesn’t want to come too soon, nothing in his thoughts that indicates a legitimate protest beyond that, and he’s still pushing into Charles’s hand. 

Charles strokes him more firmly, best he can given the angle. “What was that?”

“You heard perfectly well,” Erik says, panting through his words. “Charles. _Please_ , I don’t want--” he breaks off with a curse as Charles circles right under glans and twists. It’s a short little motion, a tight ripple of sensation where Erik’s most sensitive, and it leaves Erik gasping.

“ _Charles_ ,” he growls eventually, “stop, you _know_ what I want.”

“Yes, and I said as much.” 

It is so charming when Erik puts up a fight. Charles slides his hand back, squeezing at the base of Erik’s cock, hard and unforgiving, the way Erik loves it. 

Predictably, Erik shouts and reaches back to grab at Charles’s arm, tight enough to bruise. Charles laughs, but he does loosen his grip. 

“Darling,” he says, amused and fond. 

«I want you to fuck me,» Erik thinks. The message is firm, the aggressive certainty of his desire heady. 

It’s _almost_ enough to distract Charles. 

While Erik might have his right arm somewhat pinned, it’s easy enough to tease him with his left hand. He traces his fingers back and forth over lube-slick skin, pushing his thumb idly against Erik’s hole. He’s still stretched out, opening so easy that Charles can’t help groaning, himself. “Oh, my dearest,” he purrs, shoving his thumb in up to the ball of his hand, reveling in the slick heat of Erik’s body. “You’re so loose, though. Are you sure my cock would be enough for you?” 

He’s referring to the dildo which--girthy as it is--he can’t imagine leaving Erik unsatisfied. He _has_ managed to get near enough to hard to have Erik ride him before, but while it was certainly a lovely experience _aesthetically_ and Erik certainly seemed to enjoy himself, it wasn’t what Charles would consider a good vigorous fuck. 

Erik reacts beautifully to his words, to the thumb stretching his ass. He tenses and thrusts again, pinioned between Charles’s hands, before glancing back at the dildo and then at Charles. 

He smirks.

“No,” he admits. He doesn’t sound at all ashamed. “It wouldn’t.”

Charles grins back. He knows where this is going, but there’s no harm in being certain. “Well,” he says, still toying with Erik, “that _is_ a pity. Whatever shall we do instead?” 

Letting go of Charles’s arm, Erik shifts to reach over his back, taking hold of Charles’s left wrist instead to hold him steady as he fucks himself back. Erik is viciously sexual like this, a wild creature fixated on pleasure, and Charles loves it. 

“Give it to me,” Erik demands. 

«Give you what, my love?»

Impatient, Erik tugs hard at Charles’s arm. “Don’t play with me, Charles. Fuck me like this,” he says, a half-beat later he continues mentally. «You want it any more explicit? Then, here,» and what follows is a wave of memories--Charles fingering him, Charles with four fingers in, the first time he got his thumb alongside, and…

Charles doesn’t exactly have small hands. His fingers may be shorter than Erik’s, but they’re broad, and that’s really most the work when you’re trying to get your hand up someone’s ass. So this isn’t something they do all that often. Erik has to be in the mood for it _and_ relaxed enough for it, and relaxed and Erik are only rarely acquainted. 

When they do try, it’s not always successful. But the journey is most the adventure, isn’t it? Charles slides his right hand back, tracing the stretched-out flesh surrounding his left thumb. He pushes a fingertip right alongside the base of his thumb--not penetrating, just holding pressure. 

Teasing. 

“Charles! _Please_ ,” Erik begs.

He’s going to have to wear long sleeves into class tomorrow, Charles can feel the telling bruise already blooming around his wrist. 

“Hush,” he says, gently nudging at Erik’s mind so that he’ll slacken his grip. Charles then pulls his own hands away, laughing again when Erik protests. “Erik! Honestly, you’d think I were saying no. Come along, up,” he says, swatting at Erik’s thigh. 

Erik moves so he’s kneeled up by his side, no longer sprawling across his lap. Charles pulls him in for a kiss. 

“You’re so lovely,” he breathes against Erik’s mouth. He is, at that, already nipping at Charles’s neck and has his hands on Charles’s chest. It would be absolutely lovely to let Erik have his way with him. Erik is a determined lover, and responsive even to Charles’s own pleasure--he’s moaning lowly now, just from getting his mouth on Charles’s skin. 

But it would be unfair to deny him, Charles thinks, something he clearly wants so much. 

“Enough of that, pet,” he says, pressing at Erik. They might have skipped the collar tonight, but Erik always reacts well to that regardless, and he ducks his head and obediently backs up. Under Charles’s urging, he takes one of the pillows and turns to straddle him. It’s the easiest way for this, and makes a nice picture as well: Erik, head down with his ass in the air and facing Charles’s feet, thighs spread with his knees pressed to the side of Charles’s legs. 

Charles tugs at Erik’s hips a little, adjusting. 

His arse is so exposed like this. Charles strokes his thumb back down his perineum, slow and considering. Erik shifts with a pleading curse, thighs parting a bit more and arching to tilt his hips, and that is _such_ a perfect image that Charles has to reward him. 

Lucky for Charles, they’ve just been using the normal water-based lube this far and not the stuff he uses to fist Erik--though the minute the thought passes through his mind, Erik casts his powers out for it, and thank goodness for that whole stainless steel packaging craze and reusable pump bottles--so he hauls Erik up by his hips, close enough to get his mouth on him. 

“Fuck,” Erik moans, deep in his chest. Charles licks up from the underside of his sac to his tailbone, firm and broad-tongued. “Oh, fuck, Charles--” 

Tightening his hands, Charles manages to keep Erik from squirming away completely. Not that Erik is _minding_ , he thinks smugly, flicking the point of his tongue against Erik’s hole. Their connection is nearly incandescent with Erik’s desire, and he keeps trying to thrust himself back on Charles’s tongue, fighting the steadying grip of his arms. The problem is that once he’s this aroused--cock hanging heavy and leaking between his thighs--he becomes rather useless. He’ll get worked up and his coordination will be shot, particularly when he’s getting rimmed. Charles basically needs _restraints_ to get him to come that way. And while it’s always a lovely time, and it’s been too long now since last they busted out the rope--Charles digs his fingers into Erik’s skin, fucking his tongue in deep one last time to feel Erik loose around him, to hear him shout--that isn’t what he’s planning for tonight. 

Charles pulls his head back, smacks Erik’s arse in warning when he tries to follow. “Kneel back, there’s a dear,” he commands. Erik grumbles, hesitating a moment like he’d really be just as happy with the spanking. But Charles doesn’t give in to that temptation, either, and Erik soon does as he’s told. 

Now that he’s got his hands free again, first thing he does is try and wipe lube from his beard. At least it doesn’t have much of a flavor or smell or disturbing texture to it, unlike the other stuff. Reaching over to it, he notices the container’s already a bit warm. _Clever_ , he thinks, and he gives the bottle a few perfunctory shakes, watching Erik shift with nervous energy at the sound. 

It’s really not necessary to mix it any extra. Once Erik got the hang of blending it right, this stuff would last ages, sometimes to their mutual chagrin. A bottle once popped open in Erik’s kitchen when he was mixing a batch, and Charles had been convinced they’d have to get the building condemned for lethal slipperiness. He pumps some carefully into one palm, slicks it over his hand in a heavy coat before starting to finger Erik. 

“Mmmm,” Erik hums, satisfied. Three fingers go in again like nothing at all, and Charles gives him the fourth right off. 

“Nice?” he asks, not that he needs to. Erik’s mind pulsing that distinct mix of arousal and contentment so strongly that it’s a wonder they don’t get calls from Emma, three states away. Maybe she just likes the show. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Erik agrees mindlessly, before his consciousness seems to catch up to the conversation. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder at Charles. “Do you hear me complaining?”

Twisting his wrist, a slow corkscrewing motion, makes the most obscenely wet noise. Charles keeps doing it, back and forth, working the lube in and Erik open. 

“I think I will later,” he jokes, bracing Erik with his free hand on the curve of one hip, “When you’re cleaning up.” 

Erik laughs, then grunts uncomfortably from the sensation of it. It makes him get tighter, and Charles backs off a touch, uses the chance to squirt even more lube onto his knuckles and Erik’s skin. 

“Easy on,” he says, and Erik takes a few centering breaths for him. 

“If you want me to relax, you can’t remind me of _that_ ,” Erik gripes. 

It’s not Crisco-difficult (an experiment that lasted all of once, even if Charles didn’t mind the scent and thought it rather fun to have Erik in the shower with a bottle of dish soap after), but still a bit of a mess, as good lube should be. If it weren’t for the frankly hazardous level of slipperiness and the fact that getting even a drop in your mouth was like how he’d imagine it’d be to eat a slug, they might use veterinary-obstetrics-grade lubricant more often. 

“I suppose not,” he admits. As it stands, there _is_ a sort of ceremony to it. Serious lube for a serious act and all that. He starts pressing forward again, rocking his hand in easy and gradual until Erik groans deeply. 

“Good,” he whispers. “Oh, that’s nice now, isn’t it?” 

Around his knuckles, Erik tenses and releases, tenses and releases, a ripple of motion that seems purely involuntary but leaves him so much more relaxed. 

“You’re so open for me,” Charles tells him. He never intends to talk the whole time, but something about having Erik this way, feeling him ease and--and christ, _gape open_ , utterly trusting…

«Beautiful,» he sends, because he can’t help it now, not when he’s got Erik stretched this far. «Love you so much, my darling. I’m going to fill you up, stretch you out--wreck you, just for me--»

“Charles--” Erik warns, voice husky and forced, body tensing like he’s fighting not to come. 

_Okay_ , Charles thinks. _Perhaps a bit much_. Easing his mind back, he keeps working Erik open, hand sunk up to his thumb. Erik arches into it, relaxing once again. 

Between his thighs, Charles can see Erik’s prick has gone a bit soft. But he’s still leaking every time Charles hooks his fingers, every time he gets pressure up against his prostate. Erik loves coming from that, he won’t even need to get fully hard again. The warm build in his blood, the steady motion of Charles working his hole--that’d be enough, Charles knows. 

But there’s no hurry. He turns his hand again ever so slightly, keeping the pressure off of Erik’s prostate, just getting him used to the stretch. Thrusting in shallow strokes, his own arousal is building, too. Impossible for it not to. The sight of Erik taking his hand, the constant little hitches in Erik’s measured breaths, the wet squelch that accompanies his every motion… And, most of all, the mere knowledge that Erik _wants_ this, that he’d give himself over with such abandon--it’s humbling and unimaginably erotic, all at once. 

Eventually, after one thrust, he pulls out his hand. He does it slowly, but Erik still shudders and mumbles in protest. Charles pats at his thigh with his clean hand. 

“Shh. Gonna get my thumb in, now,” he warns. Coating his hand again in the lube, he brings together his fingers and thumb, and pumps a little extra lube on for good measure across his knuckles. No such thing as too much, and it’s not like you can’t buy this stuff wholesale. 

From ranching supply catalogues. 

Well, best not to think of that now. He swipes some thick over Erik’s ass, gets a little more out onto his hand, and Erik’s now thinking _you aren’t putting both hands in so get on with it already_ quite loudly. 

“Never hurts to be thorough,” Charles says. It can take a fair amount of preparation to get Erik calm enough to take as much as a _single_ finger sometimes, much less a whole fist. Charles has found little extra consideration at the start rarely goes amiss. 

“There’s a difference between thorough and obses-- _ah_!” 

Like now. A little extra consideration, and Erik takes his hand up to the knuckles like it was nothing at all, just an easy slick thrust. Charles grins, spreading his fingers and thumb minutely to work him up to the next bit. 

“I just want to make sure you’ll be able to take this for me,” he says, pushing. Erik moans for him, low and shaky. “And you will, won’t you? You’ll take my fist. You want it, don’t you?” 

Erik nods, sighing out a long breath. He’s doing so well, he’s opening for Charles, the muscles of his hole relaxed and loose. Rotating his hand again, Charles finds it, the point where it feels like he’s at the best angle. And he starts pressing forward, firm and confident, because they’re at the point when Erik’s about to start really _feeling_ it and get all nervous and convinced he can’t do it and clench up--

«Shit! Charles, stop, I can’t, I can’t--»

Charles winces, as much from the psychic lash of panic as from the way Erik’s clamped around him like a bloody vise. They’re at the widest, now. He’s just barely got his knuckles through the rim of Erik’s ass and now they’re stuck. 

With Erik this tense, it’s impossible to go anywhere at all. Pulling out would be as painful as continuing when he’s locked up like this. Massaging Erik’s low back with his spare hand, Charles keeps his fist carefully still and fills their connection with calm. 

«You can,» he reassures. «You’ve almost got the whole thing, you’re so very close now.» 

Erik’s gasping in pained, nervous gulps of air, and he shakes his head. 

«Can’t,» his mind repeats. Charles rubs at the tension in his back, waiting for the spasming tightness to ease. 

“You’re almost there,” he says, aloud this time. “Breathe for me, right? I’ll pull out when I can, if you want. You did well, either way, see?”

He sends the image along, of Erik’s spread thighs, his hole dilated open by Charles’s broad hand, of how there’s just the very last of it left. 

Erik curses. He relaxes only to clench again, and again, the rhythmic little spasms of arousal so distinct from his earlier panic.

«Well?» Charles sends. He thinks he knows the answer, but if Erik does want him to stop entirely, it truly is always a good time just trying. 

“Go on,” Erik growls out under his breath. “ _Slowly_.” 

Grinning, Charles thinks, «when do I ever want to rush this?» and waits for Erik to ease up again. 

He does, eventually, muscle going slack enough for Charles to push, and from there it’s not much effort at all on Charles’s part. He groans with Erik, feeling it--the way Erik’s lubed-up passage seems to ripple and just swallow Charles’s hand, taking him in effortlessly up to the wrist. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Erik hisses, almost reverently. Charles pets his back, wondering and affectionate. 

He just wants to touch Erik everywhere, any way he can, he can’t stop staring at the join of their bodies. It feels fever-hot, deep in Erik’s ass; the walls of his passage slick and so delicately vulnerable. 

It’s humbling, Charles thinks again. It’s so humbling, that Erik would let anyone have this kind of power. 

“You are so--” Charles breaks off, clearing his throat. Erik sighs, rolling his shoulders, giving completely over to sensation. “--so absolutely gorgeous.”

It’s not quite enough. It’s not even what he really wants to articulate, true though it may be. Erik squeezes around him with a gravelly moan, like the sound was pressed from him. 

“Perfect, yeah?” he asks. Erik’s obviously not listening, anyway. 

It’s not easy to stay so still, his hand cramping from being pinned so long in this narrowed position, but Charles doesn’t dare move. All down Erik’s back, his skin is flushed and sweaty. Charles can tell he’s got a death grip on the pillow under his chest, from the tension in his shoulders. 

Almost all of Erik’s thoughts are consumed with the _intensity_ of this all. He’s not feeling any pain, maybe the slightest pulsing ache from the over-stretched rim of his ass. He’s just breathing through the surge of pressure. Slowly, he relaxes again, letting out a long sigh. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, sounding almost giddy. Charles lets his hand sink in a slight bit now that he can, just enough so it gets curled into a fist. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, let me see again.” 

Charles grins, twisting a bit so his knuckles are right up against Erik’s prostate. He doesn’t need to look to know Erik’s cock is dripping precome. “Show-off,” he accuses, but he presses the image forward anyway: Erik’s body stretched out, his hole shiny with lube and tight around Charles’s wrist. 

“Mmm,” Erik agrees. He sounds incredibly satisfied, blissed-out. “You have to admit, it is rather impressive.”

“It is. Your arse is a veritable masterpiece--”

“ _Charles_ \--”

“--truly one of the greatest joys of my life. It’s a veritable wonder of our universe, Erik, and--oh, Christ, I’m sorry,” he stops, trying not to laugh as Erik winces and tries not to laugh. 

“Don’t be. Wasn’t bad, just--not what I expected.”

Humming in agreement, Charles goes back to rocking his hand in tiny motions, just getting Erik back into it. “Felt odd from my end, too,” he says. You think he’d learn by now, no making Erik laugh while he’s getting fisted, but it’s always irresistible, and Erik never seems truly bothered. Soon enough, he starts moving, taking up the rhythm to work his hips against Charles’s hand. 

This doesn’t ever last for long. It can’t, really. Erik gets overly sensitive, he hits that point where his body figures out _hey, not supposed to actually be a fist in here, through with the whole experience now_ pretty quick. But for as short as it is, it is _remarkable_.

Most of Charles’s job from here is just making sure Erik doesn’t get hurt, so it isn’t difficult to spare the attention to loop into his sensations. He’s making these low, helpless noises with every hard press against his prostate, the pleasure so strong as to be near agony. Each jolt runs through Charles, and he’s biting his lip, trying not to add much to the noise. Erik’s close, driving himself nearer with every rippling clench of his hole, ignoring his prick completely. 

Charles keeps the pressure steady, his other hand braced against the delicate span of Erik’s low back. «There we go, there we go,» he sends, mindless and tangled up in Erik’s pleasure. «D’you need--?» and he sends a rough picture of it--his spare hand wrapped loose around Erik’s prick, giving him something to thrust into, slicking precome all down his shaft--and Erik shudders but sends a quick distinct «no». 

“No,” he moans aloud, still moving, chasing that rolling pressure, “no, I--can you,” and he projects his own image, of Charles rubbing firm at the stretched-thin flesh of his perineum, working his prostate that way, too. Sliding his hand downward, Charles traces his fingers around his own wrist, right up against where they’re joined. Erik’s moaning out every breath, he’s already started to come, and when Charles presses just there--and fuck, doing that he can _feel his fist_ \--he’s done. 

Orgasms like this, they’re _glorious_ second-hand. Erik makes a strangled noise, clenching down hard, and Charles lets it rush through him. It’s less focused than when Erik comes from getting jerked or sucked off. It’s more full-body, a cresting heat that pulses through him. And while Charles adores riding along anytime Erik comes, it’s just--these are so intoxicating, these slow deep builds from working Erik’s ass. They aren’t so very unlike how he experiences coming himself, and he easily gives over into that pleasure.

“Erik--” he chokes out, concentrating desperately on _not moving anything_ as Erik’s orgasm pushes him over the edge. He can’t keep it to himself, his arousal only reflecting and amplifying Erik’s, and Erik swiftly hits that wall of _too much_.

He nearly collapses. Charles loops an arm around his hips, holding him steady. 

“Charles,” Erik starts. His voice is raw, his discomfort obvious.

“I know, darling. When you’re ready,” Charles says. He’s still reeling from the intensity of the shared orgasm, but the responsibility of having your fist up someone’s arse is honestly a touch sobering. 

Erik laughs again, short and dismissive. It still feels incredible, from inside. 

“Ready ten minutes ago,” he gruffly lies, and Charles snorts and tilts his hand to where it feels like it’d be easiest.

“That so? Ready now, then?” he asks, confirming. It’s never as difficult coming out as it is going in, but still not something you’d want to do without _ample_ warning. Erik gives him a quick nod, and bears down as Charles pulls out. 

His hand comes free with a wet sound, lube trailing after and Erik hissing in discomfort. 

If it were up to Charles, he’d keep Erik on his knees much, much longer. The sight of his hole, used and gaping… Charles traces his thumb back over, licking his lips. 

“Ahh,” Erik gasps, tilting his hips back into it, letting Charles look his fill for a moment. 

A moment’s all it lasts. Soon enough, he mutters something under his breath, letting the sensation of tired muscles and a sort of shyness come through their connection. Charles shifts back against the pillows, letting Erik sit up awkwardly only to collapse beside him. 

A thick pool of come is trailing down one of Charles’s thighs. He reaches over, rests his clean hand on Erik’s side, feeling the pounding of Erik’s heart. 

They lay together, the only sound the harsh rhythm of Erik’s breath. Charles watches him, smiling at how utterly wrecked he looks. This was the best decision he could have made. And it’s only--

Charles glances at the clock, and almost curses. 

Well, it’s only ten forty-five. That’s not… _completely_ horrible. He just hopes his dread isn’t leaking to Erik as he starts calculating what time he’ll get to sleep with fifty-six papers ahead of him.

“I’m going to wash up,” he says reluctantly, once Erik’s breathing evens. At least having Erik fucked-out at his side will make work a little more pleasant. “Get my laptop. You want..?” 

Erik mumbles and rolls on his back, making a face. Lube’s probably just leaked everywhere. “What do I want? I _want_ to just lay here.”

“Why don’t you? That is an option,” Charles says, wiping the worst of what’s on him off on the rucked-up top sheet. The linens are a lost cause by now, anyway. 

“A revolting one. I’d wake up glued to your bed.” 

“So wake up glued to my bed. It’s where you belong, anyway,” he teases, and Erik swats at him. 

“You’re impossible. Go on, get your homework, Professor.” 

Charles leans over, giving him another kiss, not rising to the bait. He’s always found that overly formal, though technically accurate. Half his students are his age or hardly younger, most the rest are older, attending community college for a second career. And pretty much all of them just call him Charles. 

Unless they’re overly formal. Like Erik was, when first they met. Lingering, he kisses Erik a few more times. It’s likely Erik will run for the shower the minute Charles is out of the bathroom. 

For a guy who’s been hand washed with dish soap before, he can be awfully shy about cleanup. 

“Alright. I’m bringing you water, too.” 

"Wouldn't imagine otherwise," Erik says. He stretches, yawning and scratching his chest, where faint creases are left from the pillowcase. For a moment, Charles is stuck watching him, admiring the sinuous play of muscle, but he shakes himself off and pulls himself into position to get back in the chair. 

He doesn't take long washing up and getting ready for hours of grading, even less getting his laptop and water for them both. But by the time he's back, Erik's already changed the sheets and he’s got the old ones in the washer. The thought occurs to Charles--not for the first time--that he's probably had his linens switched out more often in the last two years than he'd ever done in his life. Not that he's complaining, mind, particularly not tonight. He doesn't want to fly out of bed in a catastrophic industrial-lube-based accident. 

Their minds are still twined up a bit from before, so Erik snorts, clearly hearing the thought. 

“Glad you don’t teach physics,” he says, taking the water from Charles. He downs it where he stands, watching Charles toss the laptop on the bed before tugging the top sheet free from where he’d tucked it in under the mattress. _Seriously, who makes beds that way at home?_ , Charles thinks, safe in a private part of his mind. Erik leans over to brush a kiss on his neck. His mouth is freezing cold, he always chews on the ice.

“Going to shower, then.” 

“All right,” Charles says, transferring back to bed. He gets the sheet artfully rucked around his hips and pats invitingly next to him. “Don’t be long, love.” 

“I won’t be.” Erik walks halfway out the door--limping a little, poor thing, and Charles watches with hunger--before he turns. 

“Who could miss out on seduction by Wikipedia quote?” 

“I do _not_ complain that much,” Charles informs Erik’s back. He sighs, plugs in the computer, and opens the first file. 

It’s tedious work for all it could be quick--there’s a rubric, why don’t they ever look at the rubric, why are there laws against mentally imprinting people when they bloody refuse to look at the syllabus there should be _exceptions_ \--and he’s not even halfway through when Erik returns.

He’s freshly showered, smelling distinctly of the overpriced soap Charles favors, mint and cedar. Charles goes to close up the laptop, but Erik shakes his head. 

“No, don’t let me distract you again,” Erik says, lifting up the sheet to crawl in, warm against Charles. They shift the mass of pillows around, finding the best position for Charles to work and Erik to sleep. Erik winds up leaning half-slouched against Charles, face pressed to his side, one hand resting on his leg. It’s not really ideal, Charles thinks, but Erik seems comfortable enough. 

He pets down the nape of Erik’s neck. “I can’t help but be distracted,” he says, and Erik nuzzles in closer. 

“So tell me about it,” he mumbles, and Charles knows that’s just a ploy. Erik’s thoughts are already fuzzy with exhaustion. His breath puffs rhythmically on Charles’s skin. There’s no way he’s not going to pass out in seconds. But, all the same.

“Oh, it’s awful,” he starts, carding his fingers through Erik’s damp hair with one hand while he begins typing corrections with the other. Erik is falling asleep already, his resting mind no less fascinating, a wonderful and comforting background. “Listen to this--”


End file.
